


I'll Sign My Name on the Rooftop in the Snow

by SpideyFics



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Book in to see your dentist after this, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Gen, Iron Fam, Irondad, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), endgame i don't know her, it's fluff, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21903661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpideyFics/pseuds/SpideyFics
Summary: Peter hadn’t planned to stay out so late, but as Christmas Eve ticked over into Christmas Day, he found himself crawling up the side of an apartment building, buffeted by an icy wind that carried the promise of snow.When swinging home after a late patrol on the first Christmas Eve post-Blip, Peter spots someone suspicious on a rooftop.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), May Parker (Spider-Man) & Pepper Potts, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 45
Kudos: 149





	I'll Sign My Name on the Rooftop in the Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/gifts), [iarrannme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iarrannme/gifts).



> For [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest), who is a sweetheart and made me feel incredibly welcome in our little corner of Spider-Man fandom, and loves people loving Peter as much as I do - thank you, my lovely. There's no Peter and MJ in this one, but I hope you like it all the same. Merry Christmas, friend! <3
> 
> And for [Iarrannme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iarrannme/pseuds/iarrannme), who has been patiently waiting the last few weeks to Beta this, but migraines and bronchitis and generally being ridiculously busy at work meant I took forever to write this. Iarrannme, thank you for your endless patience in looking over my little scribbles and helping to shape them into something that I hope is worth reading. Surprise! I'm sure this would have been better with your input, but alas, earwax, time is against me. Have a wonderful Christmas!
> 
> This is un-beta'd, because I want to get it posted before Christmas, and there's no way I'll get it posted tomorrow or Tuesday. It contains some hand wavy science and a massive, tooth-rotting dose of sugary fluff, so be extra diligent with your dental hygiene for a coupe of days after reading.
> 
> Also, this ignores Tony's fate in Endgame, because I don't like it. Also also, the idea for this was sparked by a Harry Potter fic I wrote way back when, in which Harry arrests Father Christmas in Diagon Alley. I like to imagine these happening in the same universe.
> 
> Happy Holidays, lovely readers. Whatever and however you celebrate, I wish you love in any of its many forms.

Peter hadn’t planned to stay out so late, but as Christmas Eve ticked over into Christmas Day, he found himself crawling up the side of an apartment building, buffeted by an icy wind that carried the promise of snow.

“KAREN, would you please text May and tell her I’ll be back by 1am?” he whispered as he neared the roof.

“Message sent, Peter.” His AI went silent for a moment. “May has replied ‘OK baby see you soon x x x blue heart emoji, red heart emoji, Christmas tree emoji’.”

He set his web shooters to restrain before hopping over the wall and landing silently on the roof, creeping up on the man who’d caught his attention when he was swinging back to the tower.

Short, round and dressed entirely in red with a black leather belt wrapped around his domed belly, the man was trying to cram himself into a chimney without much success. A bulging red velvet sack tied with a thick gold cord sat on the roof within his reach.

He was really committed to his Santa aesthetic, Peter had to give him that. Even if he was a lousy thief breaking into homes on Christmas.

Peter took aim and hit his target, binding the man in a cocoon of webbing, his arms trapped against his sides. He released the webs, circling to stand in front of Bad Santa, who smiled at him from behind the most magnificent white beard Peter had ever seen. His eyes twinkled, circled by gold wire-rimmed glasses, and a bushy white pompom dangled from the end of his red, fur-trimmed hat.

“Dude. Sneaking down the chimney on Christmas Day to steal things? Not cool. And like, I admire your effort, but we both know you’re not gonna fit in there.” His Spidey-sense flared, like something was breathing down his neck, and he swore he heard a snort, but when he turned to look behind him there was nothing to see other than the first few flakes of snow drifting lazily in the air.

“Dear Spider-Man, I can assure you that I am not planning to steal anything,” the man said, his voice gently jovial. “I’m merely delivering.”

“So you’re a reverse-thief? You break into people’s homes and leave stuff? What’s your name – ‘Santa Claus’?” Peter scoffed, crossing his arms.

The man nodded. “Yes, that’s one of my many names. You may call me Nicholas, if you prefer.” He was entirely too composed for someone wrapped in web and stuck in a chimney.

“Like Saint Nicholas, right?” Peter nudged at the sack with his foot. “And I guess this is full of gifts?” The bag topped sideways with a solid sounding thump that was disproportionately loud for its size.

“Correct on both counts, Peter.”

It took a moment for Peter to register that ‘Nicholas’ had said his actual name. “Uh – what did you call me?”

“Your name, Peter. Unless you’d prefer I call you Mr. Parker, but that feels a little formal, given that you have me restrained in a chimney.” Nicholas chuckled, a deep, rich ‘ho ho ho’ that made his belly jiggle beneath the webbing like – well, like a bowl full of jelly.

Peter crossed his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. “How do you know my name, Mr. Nicholas?” The snow was falling harder, thick, wet flakes that were perfect for snowballs and snowmen, and he turned on his heater to ward off the chill.

“I’m Santa Claus. I know far more than just your name.”

That sounded a little threatening, but Peter shrugged it off, brushing snow from the top of a maintenance hatch and sitting down. “You’re really expecting me to believe that you’re Santa? I’m sixt – uh, I’m not six. It’s been a long time since I wrote a letter to Santa.” He made a show of nonchalantly writing ‘Spider-Man’ in the snow he hadn’t swept away, the warmth from his heater melting the icy crystals beneath his finger. Even though the man couldn’t see his face, he didn’t look up, worried that he’d lose his composure if he made eye contact.

“Seventeen years, to be precise. For me, at least. For you, it was eleven years ago.”

Peter’s finger stopped, and he looked at the man in shocked disbelief. “Mister, I don’t know how you know that, but I’m pretty sure tampering with the mail is a federal offense.”

Nicholas had lost his twinkle, his face sad. “In 2006, you wrote five letters to me. The first was dated July 23rd.”

“Stop,” Peter whispered. “You can’t know that. Nobody knows that.”

The man pushed on. “The second letter followed on your birthday, August 10th. Another, November 23rd, then again on December 15th.”

Peter was suddenly on his feet, fists clenched and his breathing rapid. “Stop. Stop it. Just – just don’t. Don’t.” His voice broke, and he blinked away the prickle of unexpected tears. “Please. Please don’t say it.”

“You wrote your last letter to me December 26th.” Nicholas’s voice was so kind, so gentle, but Peter wanted him to shut up. “You were five years old, but your intellect meant you were able to write at a standard far above your peers, and you made it very clear that you didn’t believe in me any longer. But you asked me for something I couldn’t possibly deliver, despite how very much I wanted too.”

Peter dragged his mask off. Nicholas knew his name, so the man seeing his face was the least of his worries. He pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, the pressure making flashes of light dart across the black. “I don’t understand how you know all this,” he rasped, unable to keep the tears at bay any longer. “Who are you?”

“Open your eyes, Peter,” Nicholas said, sounding closer, and Peter did as he asked, finding the man standing next to him, free of the webbing and holding out a handkerchief. “You know I’m telling you the truth, Peter Benjamin Parker.”

Peter scrubbed at his face with the handkerchief. “You can’t be Santa Claus. He’s not real.”

Nicholas snapped his fingers, and Peter flinched at the sound, momentarily taken back to a battlefield and the sight of Tony on his knees, but that was forgotten as the snow suddenly stopped falling. Not because it had stopped snowing, but because the snow hung motionless in the air, a million bright white flakes suspended in a moment of time. It was beautiful.

“You first asked me to bring your parents home for Christmas the day after they died,” Nicholas said, placing his hand on Peter’s shoulder, and it was oddly comforting, full of love and compassion. “The first four letters were full of hope that I could bring Mary and Richard back to you. The last was full of grief and anger, written the day after your first Christmas without them, when you realized that you weren’t going to get what you wanted.”

Peter vividly remembered that first Christmas without his mom and dad, five years old and suddenly realizing that he was never going to see them again, and that Santa Claus couldn’t be real, because if he was, his parents would have been waiting by the tree for him on Christmas morning. He remembered feeling a crushing sense of betrayal, and it was like losing his parents all over again, for good this time, finally understanding that there was no bringing them back. Years later, most of his early childhood memories - including those of his parents - had faded, but that one was almost crystal clear, kept fresh by his adamant refusal to go visit Santa every Christmas that followed.

He'd never told May or Ben about his letters, written in the small, still hours of the night when he was supposed to be asleep. He’d left them on the windowsill of the spare room that hadn’t felt like his, with its oatmeal-colored walls and a floral comforter on the Queen-sized bed that was too big for him. The letters had disappeared by the time he woke up, and he’d always assumed that his aunt or uncle had found them when checking in on him, but apparently not, if Nicholas was to be believed. And a part of him was beginning to think the man was telling the truth, as crazy as it sounded.

“I just wanted my mom and dad,” Peter said, twisting his mask in his hands. “They weren’t religious, so I didn’t pray or anything like that when they died, but writing to Santa just seemed right.” He shrugged, but didn’t feel self-conscious admitting something so personal to a complete stranger. It felt easy to talk to Nicholas, like he’d known him his entire life.

“Many children see me as someone who can grant impossible wishes, Peter. Those are the letters that stay in my mind, the pleas for something I can’t give, knowing that my seeming indifference will cost a child a portion of their innocence, take away the magic of Christmas.” Nicholas sat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and he felt like an old friend, reassuring and familiar. “I wish I could have given you what you wanted, Peter. You, and the millions of children who make similar requests every year. But death is final. Immutable.”

Peter wanted to argue that death wasn’t final - he’d died five years (two months) ago, turning to dust in Tony’s arms on an alien planet, and _he’d_ returned to life, but he knew that hadn’t been a natural death or even an _actual_ death; it had been more like being put on indefinite pause.

“I miss them,” he confessed quietly. “I don’t remember their voices or their hugs or their laughs but I miss them. All I remember is that they loved me.”

“They did love you. They loved you very much, and they would be so incredibly proud of you,” Nicholas said. “They were always on the Nice list, just like you.”

Peter turned to face Nicholas. “You’re serious about this Santa thing, aren’t you?”

“I am. Just listen to that boundlessly loving heart of yours, Peter Parker. It knows.”

He was actually starting to believe Nicholas. He’d seen and accepted weirder things, and that wasn’t even including the stuff he’d experienced as Spider-Man. Aliens and Gods, and time travel and magic – with all of that, who was he to say that Santa wasn’t real?

He laughed, breathless and wonder-struck, giving himself over to just _believing_. He gestured at the snow, still hanging motionless in the air, reaching out to poke a flake. He was on board with the whole Santa thing, but he was still a scientist, couldn’t resist learning whatever he could. “Can you manipulate the space/time continuum? Do you use quantum tunnels, or are you present in multiple planes of existence simultaneously? I guess you could use magic like Doctor Strange. You must have to visit thousands of homes per second.”

Nicholas clapped him on the shoulder, letting out another of his wonderful chuckles. “Yes.”

“Yes to what? The quantum tunneling? Because quantum physics would totally allow you to be in multiple places at the same time, but it doesn’t explain why you go down chimneys when you could just phase though walls. Unless it’s for the …”

“The aesthetic,” Nicholas finished. “I don’t need to use chimneys, but I like to every so often, because I do so enjoy popular culture’s artistic interpretations. And to answer your question - just yes. Yes to everything you said, and many things you didn’t.” He waved a hand, and the snow began to fall again. “I placed us in a little pocket of time, just a Yoctosecond for the rest of the world, but about thirty minutes for us. It may take me nearly seven months to complete my deliveries, but that’s thirty-one hours in real time.”

Peter felt something breathe down his neck again, but when he turned this time, he saw a reindeer standing behind him. He didn’t even question why a reindeer would be on an apartment rooftop, because that was just how his night was going, and he’d made a decision to surrender himself to the impossible and go with it.

The reindeer huffed at him, and pushed its muzzle against his face, nuzzling his cheek. Peter gently stroked its snout, receiving a lick in return. “Hey, big guy,” he cooed, smitten with the animal, who had absolutely no business being on the rooftop, but whatever. He was stroking an actual reindeer. “He’s beautiful,” he said to Nicholas as he sank his fingers into the reindeer’s mane, scratching gently and making it toss its head in delight.

“He’s a she,” Nicholas corrected. “This is Prancer. She’s an inquisitive one, aren’t you, girl?”

Prancer snorted, bumping her nose into the palm of Peter’s hand. He could feel the damp heat of her breath even through the fabric of his suit. “Where did you come from, buddy?” he said, stroking her ears.

“She’s been here the entire time, Peter. You just couldn’t see her until you believed.”

Peter had obsessively watched _The Polar Express_ as a child, despite his low-grade animosity towards Santa Claus, and he’d thought that the mark of belief was hearing the ringing of a golden sleigh bell, but apparently it was seeing reindeer in Manhattan. “How was I able to see you before I believed? If people could see you all the time there’d be photos of you all over the internet.”

“I wanted you to see me. I have a message for you to pass on to someone who requested something I could fulfil but couldn’t gift-wrap or deliver.” Nicholas stood, brushing snow off his rear. “When you see Morgan Stark in a few hours time, please tell her that her Christmas wish has been granted.”

Peter watched Nicholas take hold of Prancer’s harness and lead her across the rooftop. As they walked, the air shimmered and a sleigh and eight other reindeer appeared, who snorted softly as Prancer took her place back amongst them. “Mr. Nicholas?”

Nicholas turned to look at him, his hands working to secure Prancer’s harness to the reins. “Yes, Peter?”

“What’s Morgan’s wish?”

Nicholas tapped the side of his nose. “That’s top secret. I’d never disclose the nature of any Christmas wishes I receive. She’ll know what you’re talking about, I promise you, and you’re the very best person to deliver the message.” He picked up the sack that had been left next to the chimney and slung it over his shoulder. “Forgive me for rushing you Peter, but I have deliveries to finish, and it’s getting late – your aunt is waiting up for you.”

Impulsively, Peter caught the man up in a hug. “I won’t remember any of this, will I?” He didn’t know how he knew that he’d forget, but he was certain that he would.

Nicholas patted his back fondly. “No. You’ll remember to tell Morgan about her Christmas wish, but you’ll forget our conversation, and what you saw this evening. I do hope you’ll think more fondly of me, however.”

Peter stepped out of the embrace. “I hope so too,” he said quietly. “It was nice to meet you, Mr.Nicholas. I wish I could remember this.”

Nicholas touched a gloved hand to his chest, just to the left of the spider emblem. “You’ll remember right here, when you’re with your loved ones. Merry Christmas, Peter.”

“Merry Christmas,” Peter echoed, as Nicholas climbed back into the chimney. This time, the brick work expanded to accommodate him, and he slid smoothly in, pausing to smile at Peter.

“Goodbye, Peter. You’re a good boy, and you’re going to be a great man.”

“Bye, Santa.” Peter suddenly felt much younger than sixteen, full of awe and wonder.

Nicholas disappeared completely down the chimney, and with a faint sparkle, the reindeer and sleigh disappeared from view once more, leaving Peter seemingly alone on the rooftop.

He looked around him, wondering what had drawn him there. Nothing caught his eye; it was just a deserted, snow-covered roof, with only his footprints disturbing the otherwise pristine blanket of white.

With a shrug, he tugged his mask back on and jumped up onto the wall, flicking through his web shooter settings and letting out a test burst of web fluid before stepping over the edge, a web catching on the building across the street. As he swung through the falling snow, he happily hummed _Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer_ under his breath, staying close to street level and trading Christmas greetings with people heading home. Spirits were high ten weeks post-Blip, the world still celebrating the return of half its population, and Peter found himself filled with fondness for his fellow New Yorkers.

The tower was bright in the distance, calling him to his temporary home, and he swung faster, wanting to pull on the Christmas Eve pajamas May always bought him and drink a cup of hot chocolate before heading to bed.

His aunt was waiting for him in the cozy little living room of their borrowed apartment, and two mugs of hot chocolate sat on the coffee table. The soft warm glow of the tree lights was the only source of illumination in the room, adding to the coziness. “Hey, baby. Good patrol?”

He flopped next to her on the sofa, pulling his mask off and resting his head on her shoulder. “Yeah. Pretty quiet. Sorry I’m back so late, I thought I saw something, but it turned out to be nothing.”

She pressed a mug into his hands. “It’s only a quarter after twelve, you’re back earlier than I expected. Fifteen minutes is fine if you give me a heads up.”

He felt like he’d stayed out at least an hour past his curfew, but he wasn’t about to argue with his aunt. “Thanks, May. I’m gonna go get changed for bed.”

She sent him off carrying his new pajamas, which matched hers – made of soft, warm, green flannel, with a pattern of tiny candy canes. A hasty shower, and he returned to the living room and the blanket nest May had constructed in his absence, snuggling in beside her. She wrapped her arm around him, pulling him close, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head as she played with his damp hair.

They sat in contented silence, watching the yule log channel playing on the TV, the gentle crackle and pop of the virtual burning wood filling the room and making him sleepy.

“We should go to bed so Santa can come,” he yawned, his mouth running on autopilot.

May laughed, throwing the blankets off and pulling him to his feet for a hug. “Haven’t heard you say that for a long time, sweetheart. But you’re right, we should call it a night. Morgan will probably wake us up at the ass crack of dawn.”

They each went to their own room, making a valiant effort to pretend that Peter wouldn’t crawl into May’s bed in a couple of hours seeking comfort after a nightmare. He was sixteen – he was _Spider-Man_ – and he hated that a bad dream made him act like a child, but May was the only way he could calm down, banish the memories of disintegrating on a dead, orange planet, a billion miles away from home.

He curled up under the comforter, closing his eyes and listening to the faint rustle of May carrying bags of gifts out of their quarters and over to Pepper’s apartment. He’d offered to help before heading out on patrol, but May was insistent on keeping that part of their Christmas tradition going, even in the unfamiliar luxury of Stark Tower. She liked to set the gifts out after Peter went to bed, then get up before him to turn the tree lights on, keeping the magic going even though he was a teenager.

He was full of quiet, drowsy contentment, and an almost nervy anticipation for the morning, excitement he hadn’t felt for years. He loved Christmas and the way his world slowed down for a while, allowing him to spend time with May eating too much food and watching cheesy holiday movies. Their shared losses meant they doubled down on trying to make it special, keenly aware of the fragility of life and how it could all change in ( _the_ _stopping of_ ) a heartbeat. But it had been a long time since he’d felt like this – desperate for the morning to come, convinced that he was never going to be able to fall asleep because he was just too excited.

But he did sleep; deep and dreamless for the first time since being Blipped back to life, not even stirring at the soft, delicate peal of bells from the roof of the tower. He only woke when a pair of bony knees pressed against his lower back, and a shrill little voice shouted his name directly into his ear.

“Petey! Petey, wake up!” the voice screeched, as the blankets were pulled down from around his shoulders. “It’s Christmas!”

He opened one eye to look at his phone, groaning when he saw how early it was. “Mo, it’s not even seven yet. You should be in bed.” He turned underneath her, catching her around the waist, and she shrieked as his fingers brushed against the ticklish spot right beneath her ribs, turning into three feet and thirty pounds of wildly squirming four-year-old.

“FRIDAY opened the door for me,” she said, laughing fit over. “Mommy told me to come and get you.” She was wearing pajamas that matched his, and brand-new Tsum Tsum Spider-Man slippers, which he was going to need a Peter-sized pair of _immediately_ , because he was never going to get over the fact that there was actual Spider-Man merch.

He flung a blanket over her, making her giggle again. “Oh she did, did she?”

“And May said you need to get your lazy ass out of bed.” Morgan dragged the blanket off, her hair fluffing out around her head in a cloud of static, and frowned at Peter. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He schooled his face into a look of mock seriousness and swept her up in a bearhug before rolling them out of bed, Morgan clinging to him like a koala, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “Sorry, Morgie.”

“Your breath smells,” she informed him, and he threw her back onto the bed with a mock growl.

“That’s because you woke me up and I haven’t cleaned my teeth yet.” He left Morgan bouncing on the mattress and hurriedly used the bathroom, freshening himself up before returning to catch her mid-bounce, swinging her up onto his hip. He huffed a breath out right in her face. “Better?”

“Better,” she nodded. She planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek, then squished their faces together and began to twiddle one of his curls around her finger. “You smell like candy canes.”

He’d only known Morgan for two months, but he already knew he’d die for her without a second thought. She was a loving, affectionate, scary-smart ball of crazy, and he absolutely adored her, had done from the very first moment he met her, when she’d crawled into his lap, called him Petey, and demanded that he tell her what it was like to swing from a web. Tony had apparently been telling her bedtime stories about both Peter Parker and Spider-Man since she’d been born, and she’d grown up thinking of Peter as her big brother. He was more than happy to fill that role in her life.

He carried her out of his and May’s quarters and across the hall to the rear entrance of the Stark suite. The door opened up into the back of the apartment, and the two of them padded silently along the lushly carpeted hallway, past the bedrooms and then out into the huge living room with its floor to ceiling windows and twelve-foot Christmas tree. May and Pepper were waiting, both wrapped in fluffy dressing gowns and hugging cups of coffee, and the bottom foot of the tree was completely hidden by presents.

He looked down at Morgan, expecting to see a look of wonder on her face, but instead he saw her dark eyes welling up with tears, her bottom lip trembling, and she hid her face in his shoulder as she began to cry. “Morgan?” he said, looking desperately at Pepper for help. Something was sparking in the back of his mind, something he needed to say, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

Pepper swooped in, taking Morgan from Peter and holding her close. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Morgan was sobbing incoherently, her shoulders shaking with the intensity of her cries. Pepper sssh’d her, rubbing her back and trying to soothe her as she cried for her daddy. They’d known this was going to be a difficult Christmas, but they’d hoped her age would protect her a little, even though Peter knew from his own experience that it likely wouldn’t.

He suddenly knew what he needed to say, the message bursting out of him without any conscious effort on his part. “Morgan, your Christmas wish has been granted.” Even as the words left his mouth, he made a face. “Huh?”

She stopped crying, a look of fierce determination on her features, and she wiggled in Pepper’s arms. “Put me down, Mommy.”

Pepper did as she was asked, and then Morgan was off, heading for the elevator with purpose. “FRIDAY, take me to the med bay, please.”

The three of them gaped at one another, and then moved as one to Morgan’s side as the elevator doors opened and she marched in.

Pepper crouched in front of her daughter, wiping her damp cheeks with the cuff of her dressing gown. “Baby, it’s too early to go to the med bay. They won’t be ready for us.”

“Peter said my Christmas wish has been granted, so I have to go to the med bay,” Morgan said, and Peter hoped his face and shrug conveyed just how very confused he was. He didn’t know why he’d said that – the words had sprung fully-formed with no thought, but they felt right.

Before they could make a move to leave the elevator, the doors closed and the cab began to smoothly descend. “FRIDAY, please take us back up to the residential level,” Pepper said.

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Boss, but I do not seem to be able to override Little Boss’s original command,” FRIDAY apologized as the elevator reached the med bay floor, the doors opening automatically.

The med bay was usually quiet and hushed, the silence broken only by soft music and the sporadic bleeping of medical equipment, but this morning, it was quite the opposite.

“My family. I need – where are they? Please. Let me – I need to see them. Let me up.”

The four of them collectively froze in the doorway of the elevator at the sound of the familiar voice. A voice they hadn’t been sure that they’d ever hear again, a voice that had fallen silent on a battlefield as an arc reactor dimmed and died, leaving a badly injured man barely clinging to life.

“Mr. Stark –“

“Don’t Mr. Stark me. I need Pepper. Where is she? And Morgan. Pete. Happy and Rhodey. Please, I have to see them. I need to know they’re OK.”

“Daddy!” Morgan was the first to move, running into the bay and heading straight for the screened off area at the back of the room, Peter and Pepper on her heels as she fought with the curtains. “Daddy, I can’t find you.”

Pepper pulled the curtain back and her hands went to her mouth, her knees momentarily buckling as Peter supported her with an arm around her shoulders. “Tony,” she whispered brokenly as Morgan scrambled up onto the bed, tucking herself against her father’s side.

“Hey Pep,” Tony croaked, and that was all she needed to stumble towards his bed and fall against him, his one remaining arm coming up to cup the back of her head, Morgan squished between them. “You’ve caught me a little unarmed,” he joked, and Pepper made a little sound that was half-cry, half-laugh, grasping at the front of his pajamas.

Green, candy cane bedecked pajamas.

Peter looked at May, who was talking quietly with the two nurses on duty, and tearfully watching the family reunion. She smiled. “What? I couldn’t leave Tony out. I snuck them down here last night and asked Candace to put them on him.”

He moved to stand next to her and she linked their fingers, her other hand coming up to wrap around his arm. “We should go,” he said quietly, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment, but then Morgan was there, tugging on his free hand.

“Daddy wants to see you,” she said, pulling him towards the bed. “Come _ooooon,_ Petey.”

He stood awkwardly next to Tony and Pepper, Morgan still clinging to his hand. “Hi, Mr. Stark.”

“What happened to calling me ‘Tony’, huh?” Tony held out his hand, Pepper moving to sit by his knee. “Bring it in, kid.”

Peter was drawn into an awkward one-armed hug, one knee up on the pressure mattress so he could lean in, ending up half-sprawled against the man’s chest. “You’re awake,” he said, Tony’s chuckle rumbling under his ear.

“Astute as ever.” Tony patted his back, and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “Uh – why are we all wearing matching pajamas? Is it Christmas?”

“Astute as ever,” Peter teased, pulling away. “But yeah, Merry Christmas. You can thank May for the PJs.”

“You’re my Christmas wish,” Morgan piped up from her seat at the foot of Tony’s bed. “I asked Santa to wake you up and he did.”

“Is that right, Maguna?” Tony said distractedly, looking over at Pepper. “I’ve been out of it what, ten weeks? Longer? It’s still ’23, right?”

“It’s still ’23,” Pepper confirmed, her fingers stroking the now smooth side of his previously burned face. “We got you back from Wakanda last week. They fixed you up as best they could, and sent you home to finish your recovery. We’ve just been waiting for you to wake up.” She noticed Tony picking at the adhesive dressing holding his NG tube in place, and pushed his hand down. “Leave that alone,” she scolded.

He instead reached across to touch the empty sleeve hanging from his right shoulder, the excess fabric neatly folded up on itself. “Guess they couldn’t fix everything.” His face betrayed nothing of how he was feeling, but his fingers twisted tightly in the sleeve, and the numbers on his heart monitor began to climb.

Morgan crawled up the bed to snuggle up against his right side, resting her head against the stump of his arm without any hesitation. “You’re like Mrs. Nesbitt,” she said, fiddling with one of his pajama shirt buttons.

Tony’s face went soft, gazing at her with a look of awestruck tenderness. “Yeah baby. Just like Mrs. Nesbitt.” He glared at Peter. “I blame you for this. I showed her _Toy Story_ because I knew you’d insist it was part of her classic movie education or some shit like that.”

“’Shit’ is Mommy’s word,” Morgan chirped, making Peter cackle.

“Yes, and only Mommy gets to say it, remember? And May, May gets to say it, but not you, or me, or Pete.” Tony did a good job of hiding his amusement, but Peter could see it in the way the corner of his mouth twitched. “Pete, don’t suppose you’ve started designing me a new arm yet?”

Pepper shot Peter a fond look. “Started? He’s on, what now Peter, Mark V?”

“VI,” Peter said. “But I have a few ideas for Mark VII that should improve the grip force regulation.” He noticed Tony staring at him, slack jawed, and he blushed. “School hasn’t started up again. What else was I supposed to do?”

“I was joking, kid,” Tony said. “You really designed an arm?”

“He basically taught himself how to build a neuro-prosthesis in a week,” May said proudly. “We could hardly get him to eat or sleep, and then he crashed for two days solid. He’s picked up too many of your bad habits.” She didn’t mention that the week in question was immediately after the battle; Peter had dealt with his grief and trauma by hyper-fixating, and his sole focus had been creating an arm for Tony, unwilling to face the fact that he might never recover enough to use it.

Channeling his inner Elle Woods, Peter brushed the praise off. “What, like it’s hard?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on the snark. “Thank you, Pete. When they let me up out of this bed, we’ll have some lab time, give your designs a test drive.” He paused. “Wait, you’re both living here, right? Pepper wouldn’t let me buy you an apartment, so the plan was that you’d live here when you came back until you could find a new place for yourselves.”

“That’s because Pepper knew I’d kick your ass if you bought us an apartment,” May said. “But yes, we’re living here. We should be able to move into our new apartment by the end of January, so we’ll be out of your hair soon.” She stepped forward, and quickly hugged Tony. “Thank you. If it hadn’t been for you and Pepper, we’d have been out on the streets.”

“You might have noticed we’re pushed for space around here, so it was a slight inconvenience,” Tony joked. “Seriously, you’re welcome. You and Peter, you’re part of the family, you know that, right? I wouldn’t let many people get away with dressing me in off-brand flannel pajamas.”

“Walmart’s finest,” May sniffed haughtily. “100% cotton for your delicate rich-person skin, I know polyester gives you hives.”

“You know what else gives me hives? Being in med-bay.” Tony gave Pepper a look that was truly pathetic, and she rolled her eyes at him. “Pep, spring me out of here, wouldya? It’s Christmas.”

“Tony, you’ve been unconscious for over two months. You’re not going anywhere until a doctor has checked you over, and even then you’ll need rehab, PT.” At her husband’s crest-fallen look, she continued. “I’ll make you a deal. You try and sleep for a while, and we’ll move the celebrations down here. Deal?”

“Deal,” Tony agreed. Peter could see that he was starting to tire, his face losing the little color it had, and his eyes heavy. “Morgan, what do you say to having a nap with your dad?”

Morgan answered by burrowing under the covers, her head on Tony’s chest. “Mommy, can you bring Daddy’s presents here?” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and let out a fake snore. “We’re nappin’.”

Pepper tucked the blankets around her husband and daughter, and kissed both of them on the forehead. “We’ll bring all the presents here, baby. Make sure Daddy stays out of trouble, OK?”

“OK,” Morgan echoed. “Daddy, you need to be good.”

Tony was all but asleep, and he murmured his assent, his hand coming up to stroke Morgan’s hair. “Hmm. Be good.”

Once she was certain that Tony was resting, Pepper checked in with the nurses to tell them the plan and ask for Helen Cho to be called in, and the three of them returned to the penthouse to start the mammoth task of moving the gifts down to the med bay.

They began grouping presents by person, sorting them into the heavy-duty trash bags Pepper had grabbed from the kitchen. Peter glanced up to find Pepper staring at him. “You OK?”

She gave him one of her piercing looks, the kind that Tony had always said he found equal parts scary and attractive. Peter found it 100% terrifying. “How did you know Morgan made a wish? She didn’t write ask to write a letter to Santa, and she wouldn’t tell me what she wanted this year. She said it was a secret and it wouldn’t come true if she told anyone.”

“I – I don’t know. I just knew I needed to tell her that her wish had been granted.” He fiddled with the ribbon on a parcel addressed to May, rubbing the smooth satin between his thumb and forefinger. “But Santa really came though this year, huh?”

“For a kid who stopped believing in Santa at the age of five, you sure have talked about him a lot since last night,” May said, from behind a stack of gifts. “You made a Salvation Army Santa cry once. What’s with the Santa love all of a sudden?”

“I decided he’s not that bad after all. It’s not his fault that he couldn’t bring my mom and dad back to life.” He saw May’s face fall and realized what he’d said. “Uh – that’s what I asked him for when they died. I wrote him like five times that year, and when Mom and Dad weren’t there that first Christmas morning, I wrote to tell him I didn’t believe in him anymore. Which doesn’t make any sense when I think about it, writing to someone I was sure didn’t exist, but I was five.”

“Oh, baby. I didn’t know.” May swiped at her teary eyes and sniffed. “You were so little, just Morgan’s age. I thought you figured it out because of how smart you are.”

“Hey, it’s OK. He was never going to be able to make my wish come true. He’s Santa, not – not Jesus or Bruce Banner. He can’t bring people back to life.”

Pepper was squinting at him again. “You’re talking about Santa like he’s real.”

“He is.” For the second time that morning, Peter was surprised by the words leaving his mouth, but he knew they were true. He felt it in his gut, despite the lack of empirical evidence. “I can’t tell you how I know. I just do. Santa’s real.” He finished packing up the gifts and looped multiple bags along his forearms, the sacks completely surrounding him as they settled alongside one another like knots of dough in monkey bread.

May and Pepper wore matching skeptical expressions as they picked up their own sacks, one in each hand, clearly humoring him as they headed back down to the med bay.

They’d been gone a little less than an hour, and Tony was softly snoring. After two months of seeing him unconscious and completely still, it was reassuring to notice the little shifts and movements of his body in natural sleep.

Morgan was still curled up against him, wide awake and watching a projection of _The Polar Express_ , the sight making Peter momentarily pause, like a thought had slipped in and out of his brain before he could catch it.

There was a small Christmas tree – well, it was six-foot tall, but small compared to the one upstairs – in the corner of the room, and as Morgan carried on watching the movie, they piled up the gifts around the foot of the tree.

Peter had just finished emptying the last sack when one of the nurses walked up to Pepper with a hessian bag in her hand. “Ms. Potts? I found this behind the nursing station. I don’t know how it got there, I don’t remember seeing it earlier.”

Pepper took the bag and looked at the tag. “’To the Stark and Parker families – Merry Christmas. Love from Santa Claus’,” she read out, before smiling. “Peter, was this you?”

At his blank look, Pepper put the sack on the floor and stepped back. “FRIDAY, please scan this for anything suspicious.”

“Scan completed, Mrs. Boss. Nothing suspicious detected,” FRIDAY said. “The sack contains five parcels.”

Pepper undid the red ribbon bow that cinched the neck of the back closed, and slid five beautifully wrapped gifts out onto the floor. “There’s one for each of us,” she said, examining the gift tags.

“They’re from Santa,” Morgan said, sitting up as the movie credits began to play. Tony stirred as she moved, opening his eyes and stifling a yawn.

“Time is it?” he asked, knuckling sleep from the corner of his eye. “Did I miss Christmas?”

May helped him sit up, dropping right back into nurse mode and supporting him with carefully placed pillows. “It’s just after nine. All you’ve missed is Peter showing off and carrying a dozen Hefty bags full of gifts. I took a video for you, he looked ridiculous. He had to do this weird little shuffle because the bags were bouncing around his legs.”

Tony snorted as Pepper placed his mystery gift in his lap. “I’ll add it to the ‘Preposterous Pete Playlist’, we’ll have a screening later.” At Peter’s noise of protest, he grinned widely, before his smile became something softer. “God, I missed you, kid. You’re gonna have to stick close for a couple weeks, until having you back doesn’t feel like something I dreamed up in my coma.” He winked at May. “Missed you too, Aunt Hottie.”

She tutted at him as Pepper passed over her gift. “I was gone five years and you still know how to grind my gears, Stark.” There was no heat in her words, just affection, and Tony gave her his trademark smug grin as he began to pick at the tape sealing his present shut.

Following his lead, they piled on his bed, Morgan and Pepper at his shoulders, Peter and May by his feet, and started tearing into their own gifts.

Tony somehow managed to open his first, holding the edge of the paper and letting the weight of the present unfurl the wrapping, the contents dropping into his blanketed lap. He picked his gift up, a little frown of confusion knitting his brows.

“Is that a 1977 Kenner _Star Wars_ Han Solo figure in its original packaging?” Peter moaned, his own gift sitting forgotten. “And a Leia? What the fuh … uh, heck.” He moved to pick one up, and Tony bundled them protectively against his chest.

“Back off, Underoos. These are mine.”

“But you don’t even like _Star Wars_ ,” Peter pouted, trying to get a better look at the packaging.

“Uh, says you. Kid me thought _Star Wars_ was amazing, Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher were my first crushes. I really wanted action figures that Christmas, but my dad said I was too old.” Tony let the blister packs rest back in his lap, and ran his finger across the plastic. “These look brand-new.”

Tony would have been seven the year _Star Wars_ came out, and Peter felt a moment of sadness for the little boy who’d been told he was too old for something he loved. That same little boy was looking out through the eyes of his adult self, childlike wonder on his face.

May had finished unwrapping her gift. She laughed, and held the box up. “A _Bionic Woman_ wrist radio! My mom and dad tried to get me one but it was sold out.” Much like Tony’s gifts, the packaging was in mint condition and looked like new.

Pepper showed off her gift, and Peter had another bout of fanboy envy. More vintage action figures in their original packaging – Egon Spengler and Slimer from _The Real Ghostbusters._ “Pepper, you liked _Ghostbusters_?” He couldn’t picture Pepper as a child – she was the most grown-up adult he knew, so composed and polished that it was easy to imagine she just appeared fully-formed one day, wearing a pair of killer heels and a tailored suit, completely skipping childhood and marching into Stark Industries to make Tony sort his shit out.

“I had all the comics and recorded the cartoon every week. I was in love with Egon.” She turned the boxes over, looking at the back cards. “Mom didn’t have much money when I was growing up, so I never asked for anything for Christmas. She always got me a few little things, tried her hardest, but she couldn’t afford things like this.” She choked up, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I’ve never told anyone I wanted these.”

Morgan was already hugging her gift – a Spider-Man plushie that matched her slippers. “How did Santa know?” she murmured, wide-eyed. “I only asked him to wake up Daddy for Christmas.”

All eyes shifted to Peter, the only person yet to unwrap his gift. He felt the weight of expectation as he peeled the tape away from the small parcel.

A simple silver photo frame lay nestled in the paper, displaying a picture of Peter as a toddler, sitting on Santa’s lap with his mom and dad standing either side of him, the three of them wearing matching sweaters and cheesy grins. He hadn’t seen the photo before – his parents had lost almost all their possessions in a house fire the year before they died, so the only pictures Peter had of himself before the age of four were limited to the few May and Ben had taken.

He wordlessly held the frame out to May, and she took it, letting out a little gasp. “Oh, Peter. Look how tiny you were.”

Something tinkled inside the discarded paper, and when Peter shook it out, a gold sleigh bell about the size of a tangerine tumbled onto the mattress with a soft chime, followed by a slip of paper. He picked the bell up in one hand and the paper in the other.

The paper had one word on it – ‘believe’.

“Told you,” he said, shaking the bell next to his ear and listening to the sweet, gentle peal.

He knew it in his bones. Santa Claus was real. He had his tangible evidence now, in the form of gifts that were meaningless trinkets for most, but full of sentiment and nostalgia for the recipients, things that represented their childhood longings, left behind but never forgotten.

Tony gave him an odd look as he continued to ring the bell. “Kid, I think it must be broken. Doesn’t matter how hard you ring it, it’s not going to make a noise.” He held his hand out and Peter leaned forward to place the bell in his palm, watching as Tony shook it. “Nope. It’s a dud.” He tossed it back to Peter, his aim pretty accurate given he was using his non-dominant arm.

The bell jingled again as Peter caught it. “How can you not hear it? It’s really loud.”

May gestured for the bell, and it was her turn to shake it. “Nothing.” She passed it on to Pepper, who repeated the motion.

“Sorry Peter. I can’t hear a thing.” Pepper handed the bell back.

Morgan left Tony’s side to deposit herself in Peter’s lap, and she took the bell from him. It was big enough that she needed to hold it with both hands as she made it ring. “It sounds really pretty,” she said, tipping her head back to look up at him. “It’s OK, they’re grown-ups,” she whispered conspiratorially.

He held her close as she played with the bell, the chime pure and clear, something magical in its tone. Their little shared jumble of a family regarded the two of them with obvious affection, Tony in particular watching with a fierce intensity that Peter could see was a mixture of pride and love.

He didn’t know what had changed, why he suddenly just _knew_ that Santa was real, but he knew one thing for certain.

He believed.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from [I Wish it Could be Christmas Everyday](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJPc7esgvsA) by Wizzard which is my absolute favourite Christmas song, rivaled only by [Merry Christmas Everybody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BpfHSqLXePI) by Slade. Both are fine examples of British Glam Rock and have been part of our national collective Christmas soundtrack, heard at school end-of-term discos, work Christmas parties, and in supermarkets, for nearly half a century, and they are as traditional as mince pies, Christmas crackers and Boxing Day in the UK. Click the links and immerse yourself in the glory of 1973 Christmas Glam Rock. You're welcome.
> 
> Pepper's childhood gift is absolutely what I wanted for Christmas when I was six - she's a few years older than me, but I was all about _Ghostbusters_ as a kid, and I was also massively in love with Egon Spengler. I was lucky enough to get my Christmas wish.


End file.
